Twenty-five years ago I was a college-aged student teaching English in Eastern Europe. It was soon after the fall of Communism, and anything seemed possible.
My team and I decided to take a jaunt from Bulgaria, where we were stationed, across the beautiful blue Danube River, and spend the weekend in Romania.
Romania was fascinating. They'd had a bloody revolution just a few years earlier, and the buildings were still riddled with bullet holes. We visited a cemetary filled with graves of young men and women, most of whom were the same age as us, who had died fighting for freedom.
The trip back to Bulgaria was tricky. Long story short...we didn't want to wait for the train to cross the border, so we decided to walk across the bridge into Bulgaria. This had been done previously with no problem, but this time Romanian border guards, outfitted with Soviet sub-machine guns, were not accommodating.
As a twenty-something full of nationalistic pride, I truly believed the American dollar could solve most problems. And truth be known, so far in my journeys it had. But these guards were different. They were offended and angered that we though we could "buy" our way across the bridge. (Maybe $20 wasn't enough?!)
They took our passports, forced us into a border office of sorts, and let us sweat it out. Literally. For hours. Finally they pushed us on to a terribly overcrowded tour bus, threw our passports at us, and told the bus driver to take us across the border.
They never did take our money.
I thought of this story this afternoon while talking to our international adoption case worker. Our adoption of three siblings from Ethiopia has come to a seeming stand still. We need documentation that the regional government exhausted all local options for our children before signing off on their international adoption. The federal government is requiring it. Unfortunately, that piece of documentation was not required when the regional office signed off, and the regional office is no longer issuing ANY papers for international adoption from their region, so basically we're at a stand-off.
The Feds say we must have the document. The Regional office refuses to give it. The Feds say, "Keep trying to get it. One phone call or one letter is not enough."
Our agency tells the Feds, "We have tried and tried to get it. They are refusing."
The Feds say, "Try again."
Our agency says, "Think about the best interest of the children. Think about the hundreds of pages of documentation and eye witness testimony we have provided that say these children have been in institutional care for seven years. Their parents are deceased. Extended family members have appeared in court and said they are unable to care for them and they are OK with an international adoption."
The Feds say, "Try again to get the paper."
The Region says, "No."
And so round and round we go.
A dear friend offered to give us the money to fly over their ourselves to sort this out. Another sweet friend said she would be willing to go over there and see what she could do.
But here's the thing: Ethiopian culture is not like our culture. The more pressure we put on them, the more they feel backed into a corner, and the more resistance they put up.
Our team in Ethiopia have several contacts within the Ethiopian government. The agency's African director, and Ethiopian man, is well respected and has worked through situations like this before. But it takes time. Sometimes lots of time. But because he is Ethiopian, he knows the cultural aspect that we as Americans don't understand.
If it were up to me, I'd contact my congressional representatives and have them put pressure on the Ethio government. I'd start a petition and have all 400 of my Facebook friend sign it. I'd demand they hand over these children.
Or, if I got really desperate, I might consider throwing money at the situation. Because the might American dollar solves everything...right?
But that wouldn't work. It would probably make things worse. (And if the money did work, I'd have to live with the knowledge that I contributed to systemic unethical adoptions...which is really human trafficking...)
Today I was brainstorming/commiserating with a friend, and we were thinking about who we knew that could help with the situation. Later in the afternoon, I thought of someone.
His power is greatly underestimated, and yet He alone can change the hearts of those in authority.
He could change the hearts of those at the regional level, and put it upon them to submit the necessary document.
He could change the hearts of the federal authorities, and put it upon them to think about the best interests of the children, and release them without this paper.
Or He could do something entirely different, a solution that my finite mind has not yet considered.
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So many of you are praying. Cousins and aunts and uncles in California and Texas and Florida and Connecticut. A Sunday School class in Fort Lauderdale. Grandmas and grandpas in Texas and Illinois. Friends in Colombia and Iran and Wheaton and Elmhurst. Friends at Faith Baptist Church in Winfield. Lifelong friends from Harvard Ave. and Willowbrook. And countless Facebook friends and acquaintances.
Our three Ethiopian children very well may be the most-prayed for children in the world.
But could we humbly ask you to keep praying? Every kid deserves to be in a family.
In my moments of doubt, I start thinking this is never going to happen. I can see what God has done to get us this far, but I also know of other families that have gotten this far and everything has fallen through.
Our social worker has assured me today that they are not giving up. That's not their style. But sometimes my fears overtake my sensibilities. I look at the photos of these three and think it's too good to be true--that they could be ours, and we could be theirs.
But God.
I know all things are possible, but we need God's gracious hand to move. I'm trying to be patient, but I also want the healing to begin. I want to see the redemption that is going to happen.
